Marked
by Vanr
Summary: "He hated the name Mark now. Not that all Marks were to blame, Prussia thought, rubbing at his hand absently. No, it was just one dog, whose name happened to be Mark. But that didn't make it any better." In which Prussia is bitten by a dog and faces the consequences of no longer being considered a nation.


He hated the name Mark now.

Not that all Marks were to blame, Prussia thought, rubbing at his hand absently. No, it was just one dog, whose name happened to be Mark.

But that didn't make it any better.

* * *

><p>Freeloading off Austria had its perks. Of course, it also had some downsides, such as being trapped for long periods of time with only Austria for company.<p>

Austria himself wasn't too bad. But to admit that would be dangerously close to surrendering to the violet-eyed aristocrat, and Prussia could never bring himself to that.

The good thing was, Austria never asked anything of him. He never asked for conversation or company, he merely existed in the same place. It was almost like they ignored each other, except Prussia was always aware of Austria's presence, even if he never did anything about it.

Prussia still saw Germany fairly often, and it was on one such occasion that this day fell.

Germany had brought his dogs over to Austria's and one of them, the bastard, had bitten Prussia's hand when he let his guard down. The fact that he was purposefully trying to rile the dog up was irrelevant. He'd glanced away for only a moment, leaving his hand close to the dog's mouth, and in an instant he felt a biting pain and felt a warm, wet mouth and sharp teeth close around his hand.

He didn't do anything about it, though. It hurt, just like it normally would have. It was wholly unremarkable in the moment, and Prussia just left his bleeding hand alone. It would heal eventually, as his wounds always did.

But when he and Austria exchanged meaningless conversation as soon as Germany had left, the other nation had noticed blood dripping down his hand and had gone into mother hen mode.

"You're bleeding," Austria had pointed out accusingly, eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

Prussia shrugged simply. "It's no big deal," he said, trying to get Austria to leave him alone. For all of their previous enmity, Austria was surprisingly kind to him. Especially at times like this.

The violet-eyed nation dragged Prussia to the bathroom, and had proceeded to pull his sleeve back, exposing the bite mark for all its glory. It was pretty deep, considering, and the fact that it was still bleeding (albeit sluggishly) spoke to the power of Germany's dogs.

Austria didn't speak to him as he disinfected the wound, even as Prussia flinched and gasped quietly. He didn't pull his hand away, because dog teeth were probably pretty dirty and what harm could it do a nation like him, anyway?

Austria's fingers were surprisingly gentle against Prussia's hand, wrapping the torn skin and flesh in a white bandage. His expression remained carefully schooled and blank, and when he was finished, all he did was nod curtly and exit the bathroom.

Prussia flexed his hand. It hurt, but he had to admit it didn't hurt as much as it had before. He didn't know if it was thanks to his own healing or Austria, but either way, he wasn't going to thank that priss. He wouldn't stoop so low.

He went to bed and didn't think about his wound until he reached for a fork in the morning and his hand flared with pain. He hissed and nearly dropped the fork, although he caught it before it slipped out his hand entirely.

Luckily for him, it was early and Austria wasn't even awake yet. The other nation didn't need to know that his hand was still hurt, although he would notice that the bandage was still there. Prussia would just shrug him off. Or maybe he would take off the bandage.

He decided on the latter, unwrapping and carefully inspecting the broken skin on the back of his hand. The wound had scabbed over, but it was still stark and obvious against pale skin. He rubbed at it, but stopped immediately as it flared in pain.

He frowned down at his hand. He was supposed to have healed by now. Nations healed quickly, and even major things were usually gone after a few days.

He knew it for certain because he remembered seeing Austria just a couple days after he took Silesia from him. He remembered seeing the other nation, a wild curl that hadn't been in his hair earlier and his face covered with smudges of dirt and scratches. He remembered the wounds he'd inflicted on him and how they were gone not even days later.

But this wasn't like that, Prussia thought, banishing Austria from his mind for the moment. This wasn't an epic battle with another military. It wasn't even a battle. It was just his little brother's dog. Mark. Not a nation, but a dog named Mark.

It should have been gone within hours.

Prussia stared at the back of his hand, at the scab over the wound and the barely noticeable tremor as he tried to hold still.

He stood, because it was nearly nine AM and Austria would be up soon for coffee. Prussia didn't want him to worry, though. Not about him.

For a long time, he thought he hated Austria. Now they had an agreement and the two lived together in odd harmony, because Prussia didn't want to be a burden on Germany any longer and because freeloading off Austria was easier than freeloading off anyone else.

Sure enough, he heard noises from upstairs and took that as his cue to leave the kitchen, heading back to his room. He changed into the jacket he'd worn earlier, which had sleeves long enough to conceal his hand. He took off the bandages and resolved to get new ones. After all, if he wasn't healing, he could get infected, and how unawesome would that be?

When he came back downstairs, Austria was sitting at the table, tapping his finger to an unknown rhythm and humming a snippet of a song under his breath. His other hand curled around a cup of coffee, and he occasionally sipped at it as he hummed.

"How is your hand?" Austria asked, the moment he registered Prussia's presence.

Prussia found himself presented with two choices. Austria won't tease him or try to hurt him, not anymore. But Prussia didn't want to worry his new friend, the only friend he managed to keep close that hadn't turned him away yet.

He didn't want to lie to Austria, at least not completely. He settled for a half-truth, and hoped Austria would not press.. "It still hurts," he reported, schooling his features to be unreadable. "But it's fine. Not still there, if you really wanna know."

Austria himself settled into an entirely stoic expression, not betraying any of his thoughts. His eyes narrowed, but there was no hint of suspicion in his pretty violet eyes.

Austria had visibly relaxed at his words, as well, although anyone not used to Austria wouldn't be able to tell. Prussia had known him for his entire life (Austria's, too, as they were both around the same age) and he knew. He could see muscles in Austria's hand become less pronounced, and his eyes began to close very slowly, like he was almost about to fall asleep.

"That's good," Austria said quietly, cup at his lips and half-closed eyes looking over at Prussia. He must have been tired today. He wasn't as observant as he usually was.

Prussia just nodded and before frigid silence broke out, he left the room. He took this opportunity to go outside. There were birds out there, and Prussia loved birds. He sat in the garden, bird food in hand and sitting crosslegged on the grass. One of the birds even dared to perch on his shoulder, chirping cheerfully in his ear.

He touched its feathers and sighed. Not for the first time, he wished he could be a bird. Or, at the very least, fly. The freedom flight would give him would be amazing.

He wouldn't have to pretend for anyone anymore, not to be happy with his isolation or pretend to be happy in general. He wouldn't have to pretend he didn't miss the good old days when politics and war were practically the same thing.

He wouldn't have to pretend to be _anything_. He could be free in the sky, among and above the clouds, powerful and free in a way he knew he could never achieve on the ground.

Austria came out then and sat next to him, and thankfully said nothing. The two sat in silence, Austria listening to bird song with his eyes closed and Prussia yearning wistfully for the days when he could be free.

After a bit, the two go inside. Austria had paperwork to do and Prussia did, too. The two were once again in the same room, quietly operating as if alone. It would have been unusual, say, if it had been pointed out. Someone like Germany would have been astonished that Prussia and Austria could even inhabit the same house without destroy it or each other.

Someone like Germany was too young to understand the myriad aspects of their relationship. Well, relationship was not the right word to use. They were friends, but they hadn't been for long. They had been enemies for almost their whole life. Back when Prussia had only been a duchy and first heard word of the Duke, the Duke named Leopold.

Leopold's actions had brought about another duchy like him. Except instead of being fierce and powerful, like him, this new guy was smaller and weaker. He picked fights too much and always got beat up, but even as a duchy, Prussia had been impressed with the little guy's stamina.

The Austria from back then would never back down from a fight. That Austria would pick himself up from the dirt, bleeding from scratches on his legs and face and reacting just as fiercely as Prussia would have.

That Austria was practically the same as him.

Then something had happened and the little boy with purple amethysts for eyes and the indomitable spirit of a warrior had been taken and replaced with an uptight little master with clean, pristine clothes and a knack for playing piano.

Prussia had thought that little boy lost. But nowadays, he could see the fire in his eyes, he saw strengths of the little master he'd never seen before. He saw vestiges of that small boy he'd been so very long ago in the man he now lived with.

He knew trials and hardships had forced Austria into the man he was today, and he knew that it was the reason Austria had a habit of pushing the people closest to him away.

Prussia knew Austria was just as lonely as he was, but some part of him could never forgive Austria for another childhood friend. Hungary.

He could admit now, he'd had an infatuation with her, even if he hadn't really done much to show it.

But she'd left him and then they'd gotten married and Hungary treated him like a worthless stranger, instead of an old friend.

He'd missed her. And in his bitterness he'd pushed everyone else away, watching with crimson eyes ablaze with fury as Austria-Hungary had taken over and dominated Europe.

He'd lashed out at them as often as he could, and when Hungary had decided she'd had enough of Austria, he'd been delighted, even at Austria's obvious pain and bitterness.

Then came World War II, and he'd been forced for twenty-eight years to live in Russia's house and work for the Soviet creep and when he came out he had gotten things sorted.

Hungary had been a child's dream, a vision of what could-have-been. She never would have loved him, not the way he had loved her.

Austria wasn't worth the time and energy he'd wasted fighting him. Especially not now, after any vestiges of power he'd retained from his glory days as an empire were long gone.

He thought about it, about events years past while he was doing Germany's paperwork, and when he finished, he stood up and yawned loudly.

"Don't break anything," Austria warned absently, waving a hand at him casually. Prussia chose not to respond and simply exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Austria had since become the second person most important to Prussia, and he wasn't really too happy with that. Except perhaps he liked having someone other than his brother around too much to _actually_ dislike the other nation. So he kept his misgivings to himself and found himself, dare he say it, actually enjoying Austria's presence. Once in a while.

When Austria had found out Prussia played transverse flute, he'd immediately written out a few flute orchestral-style pieces and wordlessly handed them to him during dinner one evening. And when Prussia had shook his head fondly and called him a 'hopeless music nerd,' Austria had snorted and rolled his eyes but otherwise stayed silent.

It was the kind of music that was hard to sightread but once learned fully was immensely satisfactory, and it had taken Prussia all of a day to get it under his fingers.

Austria had even found -or perhaps transcribed- parts of Frederick the Great's music, and hearing the flute playing melodies from his Simfonie no. 1 in D Major had brought back sweet, painful memories that went back hundreds of years, to when they were at all out war for nearly the first time out of many.

Austria wasn't the cruel, cold hearted bastard Prussia had pegged him out to be, and only now did he realize it.

But today, he was busy. Today he'd found another piece Austria had left on the music stand for him, another one of Frederick's pieces. It was the allegro from his concerto in C major, and it was surprisingly difficult to nail down correctly. Up and down, but mostly up went the melody, swooping up and trilling, then falling back and quickly rising up again. It jumped up and down between octaves, before a trill and then resting. It wasn't long or overly strenuous, but the octave jumping was difficult to manage without sounding choppy and there was a lot of it. Prussia could handle trills. But the octave jumping still caught him off guard.

He hissed in frustration as his flute made an ungainly squawk and he angrily lowered the instrument from his face. Damned octave jumps!

"You almost had it then," came Austria's quiet voice from the doorway, watching Prussia intently behind his glasses. "What happened?"

"It's the jumping. It sounds choppy and bad, you know? I can't jump without changing the air and that makes it sound bad," he complained, but his lips quirked up. It felt good to complain about music to someone who would understand, unlike Germany, who'd always just nodded and pretended to be interested.

Austria frowned in thought. "Is there no way you can play both with the same air flow?"

"Maybe," Prussia allowed. He brought the instrument back up to his lips and played the notes through slowly, adjusting miniscule muscles in his face until he thought he got it.

He tried again, and although it wasn't perfect, it was much better. By that time, Austria had managed to drag out his violin and track down the music to the violin countermelody.

They settled, standing back to back, and Austria began the song by opening the melody on violin, nimble fingers dancing up and down through the runs and rapid note changes.

It wasn't that Prussia never heard Frederick's music since the man himself played it. But he hadn't heard it live, or at least not like this. With the flute solo and the violin counter melody, it sounded amazing. The violin mostly played during the points where the flute wasn't, but they still sounded amazing together. It supported the flute part, and they bounced off each other.

When Prussia added a few of his own touches, Austria started taking liberties as well. There was an extra trill here, a ritardando there, and a crescendo at the end. It was two artists at work, creating a masterpiece and throwing it out for any who cared to listen.

Austria's eyes were closed as he played, and Prussia's were half-lidded. The two leaned against each other, not noticing the contact in their intense concentration.

They heard the last notes echo through the house as they stopped. Prussia lowered his flute, and Austria mirrored him with the violin.

Something meaningful might have passed between them, but they were not facing each other and they instead took a moment to think separately before turning to face the other.

"That was very good, Prussia," Austria said, a small but significant smile gracing his lips.

Prussia grinned, and for once it did not feel forced. "You were pretty damn good, too," he complimented.

Austria nodded graciously, and the two fell into their usual silence. Austria neatly put the music back on the piano and the violin in its case while Prussia took apart his transverse flute and stored it safely in its own case.

The two went to bed like normal, and the next morning they did paperwork, then Austria went shopping and came back with supplies with _sachertorte. _Prussia delighted in snaking his arms around Austria's back and eating the unfinished dough from the bowl.

He was less delighted when Austria slapped at his wounded hand, and it was all he could do not to cry out. It had been two days, and still it had not healed properly. Of course, Austria didn't hit very hard.

Besides that, when he'd finished putting the cake in the oven, Prussia noticed a spoon mostly filled with cake batter still in the bowl.

Prussia took it as the peace offering that it was and smirked, even as his hand ached and throbbed. The chocolate was very good, he decided, and he wasn't angry with Austria.

Several days later, nothing remarkable happened. It was a full week since his injury, and his hand was still not yet healed. It still bore pink marks, almost healed over but still visible. Still enough to cause him slight pain.

Austria and Prussia had decided to visit Germany, and Prussia had brought his flute on a whim.

When they arrived, Austria immediately vanished and Prussia went to talk to Germany alone, not bothering to find out where his companion had wandered off to.

With Germany, he could not be as silent and morose as he could with Austria, and he found himself pushing his little brother's buttons, just like he used to. It gave him a sense of purpose, and when he did it, he felt a little more useful in this world that had long since left the Prussian Empire behind.

As if he wasn't an old, forgotten nation who was taking far too long to heal from a simple dog bite. As if there was nothing wrong with him.

Well, almost like that. Because he'd given Germany his flute, his precious flute. The flute he'd just mastered Frederick's music on. The flute that he would play with Austria's violin.

The flute given to him long ago by the man who made him who he was.

Germany could play the flute, as Prussia had taught him. Germany wasn't bad, but it had been clear from a young age that Germany was not especially musically gifted. Prussia, however, was just as good as Frederick the Great had been.

Germany had noticed his hand as he was handing the instrument over. Prussia told him that it was just that day the dog had bitten him.

He'd looked into the dog's eyes and he had been angry, but he couldn't do a thing about it. The dog was just a dog, and while Prussia glared it had stared coolly back, as if it knew and understood exactly what it was doing to him.

Damned Mark.

Austria had shown up before Germany could comment further and they had left.

Now, Austria knocked gently on Prussia's closed bedroom door.

They had an agreement of sorts, where they didn't talk more than necessary and to never bother the other when in their respective room. Austria was breaking their rules, but he probably wouldn't have done it if not for something important.

Prussia stood and opened the door, tired crimson eyes greeting equally exhausted violet ones. "What do you want?" he asked, not kindly, as Austria didn't immediately speak up.

"I heard what you said to Germany," Austria stated softly, eyes dark and expressionless, even as his hand clenched. So, this was important.

"Yeah? What?" Prussia tried to act unconcerned, hoping it was just about the flute and not-

"You told him that dog bit you today." Austria's tone was still flat, still deceptively smooth, and Prussia knew it was a lie to try to keep everything away but he knew, from the subtle shifts in motion that it was taking all Austria had not to cry out or do something rash.

"Oh," Prussia replied, unsure of exactly how to proceed. "Well, uh-"

"Let me see your hand," Austria demanded, and before Prussia could deny the request, he reached out and pulled Prussia's hand toward him with more force than Prussia was expecting from the smaller, weaker nation. Austria tugged back his sleeve, revealing the still-healing bite marks on his hand.

"Prussia…" Austria trailed off, and Prussia was surprised to see the emotion in his face. Normally he expressed his feelings in body language, but now, his brows were knit in concern and he was biting his lip. "Prussia, this is bad! You should have healed by now, what-"

"I know, Austria!" Prussia snapped. He yanked his hand back, glaring at the man in front of him. "Okay? I realize that this is bad and I could be dying and I'm not even a real country anymore so that shouldn't be a surprise, should it? How long did Holy Rome last, after _his_ disillusionment?"

Austria inhaled air sharply, and he looked uncharacteristically vulnerable. "He didn't," he answered softly, hands falling to his sides at last.

"That's right. And I've been around longer than you have." Prussia had to smile at the faint look of indignation on Austria's face.

"Not long! The point is, Prussia-"

"I know," he interrupted softly. "Why do you think I gave Germany my flute?"

Austria faltered, and Prussia could have sworn he saw him blink away his shock and surprise. "You- you did?" Austria asked, disbelievingly. A musician like him would understand the significance of that decision.

Prussia nodded. "Someone has to play it. That flute's too good to be left to gather dust."

"Prussia…" Austria started, looking as though he wanted to say something, something meaningful, but he couldn't find the words to say it.

Prussia knew, though. He could tell by the fear in Austria's intent gaze and the way he watched him, with panic and longing combined. He could tell by watching Austria's hand, clenched into a fist and shaking.

So he stepped forward, and let his own fingers brush against Austria's. Austria looked up, eyes wide and oddly open with him, expressing more than Prussia thought he'd ever seen before.

"I'm going to be fine," Prussia told him, with a winning smirk. "Just you wait and see."

The disbelieving look that flashed briefly on Austria's face would have gutted him a lot more if he didn't agree wholeheartedly.

He was doomed, and he knew it.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note-<strong>

**If you want to listen to the song I listened to while writing this, it's called 'Flute Concerto in C major - Allegro'. It's some pretty intense stuff.**


End file.
